Voyage of the Doomflower
by JoeMerl
Summary: Thanksgiving two-shot. The Pilg-Irkens have traveled light-years for peace on a new world, but they may need the help of the Native Earthlings if they hope to survive. Now complete! And only a week after Thanksgiving, too. Cover image by InvaderZimFanNumber1.
1. Part I: PilgIrkens

This was just a weird idea I had and decided to write out. I really have a thing for holiday stories, don't I? Anyway, it's a quick two-shot; Part II, hopefully, with be coming this Thursday. Hope you enjoy!

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**Part I: Pilg-Irkens  
(Zim's POV)**

The skool.

Oh, how I detest that place. That horrible, horrible place with its horrible horrible...ness. And yet here I was, day after day, five miserable Earth-days out of every miserable Earth-week, sitting in the classroom with a bunch of pathetic hyuman child-things.

Ah well, I thought as I walked into the class. At least this was the last day this week. Though it was only the day the pitiful hyumans designated as "Wednes," we had been informed by the horrible teaching-drone that classes would not be held for the next two days, as part of yet another ridiculous holiday that I had not bothered to find any information about. What was it called...?

"_Hey, buddy!_"

Oh no. I knew that voice. It was the one that was usually immediately followed by---

"_Oof!_"

---a tight, painful squeezing to the midsection.

"Aren't you glad it's the last day of skool this week, buddy? Huh?! Aren'tcha? Hey!" The Keef-hyuman suddenly released me from his horribly death-hug---I staggered back, rubbing my chest and gasping for air. "What are you doing for Thanksgiving?"

Ah, that was it. Thanks-gi-ving. But his question had me stymied. "I am doing...the usual normal hyuman Earth-things," I said vaguely, waving my hand in a casual way.

"So you'll be in town?"

"Er---yes."

"_That's great!_ Because I asked my mom, and she said I could invite you over to _my _house for dinner if you want---you could come and your parents could come, and even GIR could come if you want, it would be _so cool_ and we could feed him table scraps and that really gross bag of turkey parts, and then you and I could break the wishbone and---"

"Save your breath, Keef!" yet another familiarly-annoying hyuman voice said, and as Keef turned I saw the Dib, standing with his arms crossed behind him. "_Zim_ won't be celebrating Thanksgiving at all, I bet. And he wouldn't be eating turkey anyway. He'd be eating your _brain_! Or...something."

"That's a lie, Dib!" I shot back, pointing at him angrily. "You know as well as I do that the Keef-boy has no brain fit for consumption!"

"Oh, good," Keef said, looking relieved.

"And I will _so_ be celebrating your pathetic hyuman Fangs-taking---"

"_Thanks-giving._"

"That too! I will be doing completely normal hyuman activities such as all completely normal hyumans do. Because I am a completely normal hyuman. So there."

I smirked and crossed my arms, glaring at him victoriously. But to my amazement, the foolish little pig-child kept the same pose, almost a mirror of my own. The arrogance! "Oh, yeah? What _kind _of completely normal human activities, _Zim_?"

Uh-oh. By now several of the other students were watching our argument, and I could not betray a shred of ignorance on this topic. I nervously waved my hand again. "Well...uh, I..."

"Class! Take your seats!"

The Bitters-hyuman (...or whatever she was) had just swept into the room, glaring malevolently out of her glasses as they flashed in the florescent lights. Shooting me an angry look, the Dib-weasel rushed away to his seat as I rushed over to mine. For once I was actually _thankful _that class was to start.

Ms. Bitters sat down and glared over the room, hands clasped before her on her desk. "Well, class, as you all know, tomorrow is Thanksgiving, so this will be the last day we meet until Monday."

"_Whoo-hoo!_"

"_Yay!_"

"QUIET!" she snapped, and silence filled the room. "To celebrate this horrible day of gratuitous gluttony, I have been instructed to teach you all the story of how this annual idiocy began. Our story begins more than three hundred years ago, in a _doomed_ country called England. Back then, the King (who was _doomed_, incidently)..."

She began to drone on. I sat back, listening closely; I had to discover as much as possible about this horrible Earth-holiday, so that I would know what to say if the Dib-monkey tried to question me again. But, as with so many of Ms. Bitters lectures, this one proved both boring and difficult to follow---words like "Pilgrims," "Puritan," and "antidisestablishmentarianism," for which my PAK had no translation, soon caused me to lose track of the story, and I slumped down in my desk, watching through my lenses as she droned on...and on...and on...

I yawned. I had been up too late the previous night, working on my newest plan with the hypnotic robot-squirrels, and I had so lost track of time I had not been able to recharge my PAK before skool began. The battery must be low...it wouldn't shut down my life-support, of course, after only a few days, but I could tell it was struggling to maintain secondary bodily functions.

On and on the Bitters-beast droned...

My eyelids began to close...

"...and so they commissioned a _doomed_ ship called the Mayflower..."

My chin fell to the desk...

"...across the Atlantic Ocean..."

My eyes shot open for a moment, then fell back...

"...doom, doom, doom..."

........

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The Rev. Zim, leader of the Puny-tans, was walking down the street of Lun-pun, capital of Irk-land.

"Good morrow, Goody Tak!" he called to a Puny-tan female, dressed (as all Puny-tans) in black and white.

She gave him a cold look. "Why are you talking that way, Zim?"

"Shut up! It's _Rev._ Zim to you."

"Ooh!" called Skoodge, another Puny-tan, running up to the pair. "Do I get some cool, old-fashioned title too?"

"_No!_"

Just then, a voice boomed through the air.

"_Make way! Make way for the Kings of Irk-land!_"

Rev. Zim suddenly felt Tak push him roughly down.

"Oof! _Hey!_" he stumbled forward, grabbing his black, inexplicably-buckled hat to keep it from falling off. "Who dares to hit Rev. Zim on the back of his amazing head?!"

"Shut up and get down, you idiot!" Tak snapped, looking annoyed as she straightened out her black skirt, kneeling on the ground. Grumbling, Zim got down into standard grovelling position along with everyone else on the street, as the open-air hover-carriage flew through the city streets with the two Kings.

"_Whooooo! _Hey!" King Purple called, his crown tipped jauntily on his high head, violet fur coats majestically hanging from his thin frame. To his side King Red was a bit more subdued, but still grinning triumphantly as he looked down at all the small Irkens on the street, in their drab black and white clothes, bowing down before him.

"This blows," Tak muttered, purple eyes hard. Even as she spoke, though, her antennae---sticking out of her white bonnet by two small holes---wiggled in ceremonial applause.

"Agreed!" Zim snapped angrily, as his own antennae waved wildly through the holes in his hat.

The carriage came to a stop. "Attention, short, pathetic little nothings!"

"_That's not nice!_" one of the assembled Puny-tans called.

The Kings turned and looked at each other dryly. King Red tapped a button on their carriage dashboard; instantly the ground opened under the Irken who had spoken, and he fell with a long cry.

"_Agh! It burns!_" came the voice before the inexplicable street-trapdoor closed, and King Red clapped his hands and smiled brightly at the other assembled peons.

"O-kay. Well, now, pathetic subjects, King Purple and I just want to make an announcement about a few more changes taking place with the Church of Irk-land." He pulled out a scroll and read from it. "_A-hem._ _'Effective today, Church of Irk-land services will now include singing, dancing, drinking, gambling, snacking, smoking, and, on special occasions, wild naked sex orgies.'_"

"Whoo!" "Yeah!" came various voices from the crowd.

"_'But, of course, short Irkens are still not allowed to attend.'_"

"What?!" "Hey!" "YOU SUCK!"

"Ha!" King Purple cried, pointing at them all. He put his hands to the side of his face and stuck his tongue out. "Stinks to be you losers, doesn't it?!"

"Yes. Yes it truly does," King Red said, nodding thoughtfully. "...Anyway. Bye!"

He pressed another button on his carriage, and it blasted off down the street.

"_Ugh! _This _blows!_" Tak screamed, rising from the ground with an angry glint in her purple eyes. She wiped bits of dirt from her white apron and crossed her arms angrily over her plain black dress.

"Yeah! I _love _snacking and sex orgies," Zim grumbled, rising to his feet and looking moody.

"Yeah," said Skoodge, frowning. "Too bad short Irkens are all oppressed and stuff. Oh well," he shrugged. "Nothing we can do about it."

"Oh yes we can!" Zim cried, pointing suddenly (and dramatically) at the sky. "For we shall leave this oppressive planet and start our own civilization! One with ten times as much snacks and sex orgies as this crummy planet!"

"Huh?"

"That's stupid."

"Shut up! I'm the leader of the Puny-tans, so I get to decide! Now come hither, mine brethren, and let us to my laboratory whence we shall sup upon nachos and make congress of my _mach-in-at-ions_."

Still posing, he marched dramatically away. The others looked at each other, Skoodge confused, Tak sarcastic.

"_I SAID 'COME HITHER, MINE BRETHREN!'_"

"Oh, whatever," Tak muttered, rolling her eyes as she followed.

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"_Behold!_"

Rev. Zim pulled a sheet from his holo-projector, revealing a floating image of what looked like a metal sailing ship with a high mast and wide sails emblazoned with the Irk-land facial symbol.

"Ooh," said Skoodge. "What is it?"

"Issa cheeze-monkey!"

"Yes, GIR, it's a---no!" Zim said, giving his robotic assistant a back-handed slap and knocking the buckled hat off of his head. He motioned to the image. "These art the schematics of mine newest invention. I calleth it...the _Doomflower!_"

"Why?" _SLAP!_ "_OW!_"

"No interrupting, Skoodge! Now, in yonder vessel, we shall setteth sail across the wide galaxies for a new home, whence we Puny-tans can liveth in peace away from the oppression of the vile Kings of Irk-land."

"And have snacks and hookers?"

"And have snacks and hookers, yes."

"Neat!"

"And _when_, pray tell, did you come up with _this _brilliant idea, Rev. Zim?"

"Twenty-six minutes ago. NOW! We must begineth construction on this vessel, which shalt take us all to our new home!...eth."

And so, under Rev. Zim's directions, the Puny-tans began construction of the _Doomflower._It was a long and arduous process---not least because their work exploded three times, and a fourth time GIR got the insides all cheezy and ye olde sprinkler system caused quite a few injuries to the Irkens assembled. But in the end, the vessel was complete, and after solemnly burying the cheeze-coated dead, the ship was ready to begins its voyage.

A fact which Rev. Zim was eager to announce to the world.

"Attention, puny non-Puny-tans!" he called; his voice was magnified out of the ship's speakers as it floated, out of place, above the vast Irk-land city. Many Lun-punners were gaping up at it in confusion.

"We, the _amazing _Puny-tans, hath constructedeth this amazing VESS-el! And now, pathetic nothings, behold, for soon, it shall begin to rain for forty days and forty nights, and in the ensuing storm all but we shall perish!...eth."

"What?!"

"Oh no!"

"_WE'RE DOOMED!_"

The people down on the street below began to panic and scream. Rev. Zim, beaming, turned back to the other inhabitants of the ship.

"HA! Pitiful talls. Now all we have to do is sit back and wait for them all to die." Grinning, he sat back in his seat and kicked up his feet onto the control panel, claws cushioning the back of his head.

Tak gave him her patented "oh what an idiot" look. "_That's the wrong story, Zim!_"

"Hyeh?" He sat up. "Aren't we doing Noah's Ark?"

"_No, you idiot!_ We're doing the voyage of the _Mayflower_!"

"Oh..."

A moment later, the panicking people below heard a new message. "Um---never mind. We're just leaving."

"Oh..."

"Whatever."

"Good riddance."

"NOW!" Zim cried, sitting back in his seat. "From this day forth, we shall be known as---the _Pilg-Irkens! _And with our new name, we shall fly this ship to a new and better world, where we shall be free to do as we please!"

"YAY! I'm gonna sing the Doom Song now. Doom, doom, da-doom-doom-doom, doom-doom, doom---"

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Zim?" Skoodge asked worriedly over the sound of GIR's singing, as Zim piloted the _Doomflower_ up out of Irk-land's orbit and into the vast blackness of space.

"Ah, thy worrieth too much, good Skoodge," Zim said. "Fors_oo-oo_th, soon we shall be enjoying the plenteous and bountiful harvests and goodies of the new civilization we shall foundeth..." He gazed longingly out at the space before them. "...on our new home."

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The Pilg-Irkens stood the middle of their tiny village, buildings half-fallen down, made from the puny sticks and twigs of their new planet. Their green skin was now blue from the cold. All around, on all the ground, all the crude buildings and all the trees, was a horrible frozen white substance that, while _freezing,_ _burned _them to the touch. Amidst the snow lay the remains of their last snack wrappers and bags, while no more than a few crumbs worth of food remained to be eaten.

"Well," said Tak, arms wrapped around herself as she shivered, purple eyes glaring. "This whole 'pilgrimage' idea just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?"

"Shut up!"

"No, no, _really_ Zim, this is just working out _fabulously_. We're stuck on some backwater planet, our only shelter is made of _twigs,_ it's twenty degrees below zero, and the entire ground is covered with frozen water that will _burn us to the touch!_"

"I said shut up!"

"I mean, really, what could be better than freezing to death on this Irk-forsaken wasteland on a planet that you've driven us all to?!"

"_Shut up!_"

"Agh!"

Zim leapt at Tak---Tak's PAK-legs burst out and she rose into the air, kicking him hard. He flew backwards, landing on the cold snow---

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"ZIM!"

"AGH!"

I jerked awake, jumped back, and fell onto the cold tile floor of the classroom.

Ms. Bitters loomed over me, glaring. "Sleeping in class?" she snarled.

"Er...heh-heh...sorry," I muttered, climbing off the floor and back into my seat.

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I hope this didn't come out rushed; I like the concept, but wonder if I was a bit clanky in the writing. What do you think? Please tell me in review form, and be on the lookout for Part II. (Then go read another one of my stories...you know, if you want.) Thanks!


	2. Part II: Native Earthlings

Yes, yes, it's a week after Thanksgiving. I've been busy! I shouldn't even be stopping now with all the homework I have to do! Anyway, thanks for the attention to Part I, and please enjoy Part II!

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**Part II: Native Earthlings  
Dib's POV**

"What were you doing, Zim?" Ms. Bitters snarled, bending her strangely sinuous form down to glare right in his face.

"Ugh---just---_uggghhh_---sleeping," he muttered, shuddering inexplicably at the thought.

"It is not _nap time,_ Zim. Now if I catch your attention wandering again, I will have no choice but to send you to the principal's office."

"Eugh---yes, sir," Zim muttered, drawing slightly away as she leaned in towards him.

I snickered as Ms. Bitters made her way to the front of the class. "Maybe you'd learn a little more about Earth, _Zim,_ if you didn't fall asleep in the middle of class!"

He turned to give me an ugly (-er than usual) look; it was Ms. Bitters' glare that cowed me, though. I drew back as she finally resumed her seat. "And _now, _class, back to our story. While the Pilgrims were busy laying around and _dying _to death, a group of nearby Indians---"

"Ms. Bitters!" Zita's hand was in the air. "Aren't you supposed to say 'Native Americans' now?"

"Oh, nobody really cares," Ms. Bitters muttered with a wave of her hand. "Anyway, a group of nearby Indians..."

Tearing my eyes away from Zim, I turned back to Ms. Bitters as she droned on with the story. What a stupid, pointless waste of a skool day, I thought. Like we hadn't all been hearing this story since we were in kindergarten. Though Ms. Bitters did have a very unique take on it, as with all her lessons...

I yawned, elbow sliding slightly on the desk to lower my head. Geez, I was exhausted. I had spent all last night trying to hack my way into Zim's computer system, without much luck. Maybe I could finish tonight...I really wanted to foil Zim's newest plan before the holiday. It was something with evil robotic raccoons or something...

My eyes closed---I jerked them open, trying to focus on Ms. Bitters' words---she had now descended into a long, off-topic discussion of various Indian tribes and the history of scalping, syphilis and cannibalism...my chin slid out of my hand...I felt, as if from far away, it hit my desk, felt my glasses go slightly askew...

"...anyway, where was I? Oh, yes. As the Pilgrims were starving to death like the _doomed_ morons they all were, they were fortunate enough to be found by a local Indian..."

...

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"Dad! I'm home!"

"Ah! Welcome back, Big-Head Boy."

"_My head's not big!_"

"But that's your _name,_ stupid," his sister, Doomy-Fisted Girl, muttered from the teepee floor, where she was drawing a picture of a piggy in the dirt, using one of the feathers from her headdress as a pen.

"Oh...right," Big Head muttered, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

Big-Head Boy's dad, the village shaman, straightened up. His rough animal skin shirt was pulled up over his face, as usual, and his eyes were hidden by goggles. ...You know...Indian goggles. Or something.

"I'm working on my newest creation---I call it the 'Tele-Fog.' When finished, it will be able to send smoke signals _1000 times faster!_" he screamed, pointing to the tent roof dramatically.

"Uh, cool, I guess. Hey, Dad, is it okay if I go out into the forests and look for Sasquatches?"

"Hmm." His father scratched his hidden chin thoughtfully. "Well, normally I would say no...but then again, Sasquatches are based on a Native American legend...so logically, I should believe in them. Alright, that's perfectly fine, son." He waved his hand dismissively and returned to his work.

"Really? Great!" Big Head grabbed a satchel of supplies from the floor.

Doomy-Fisted Girl threw her feather to the floor and followed him out of the tent. "Yeah, I'm bored in here too," she muttered. "I'm gonna go play with my Game Slavey."

"Your what?"

"HI GUYS!" A boy with a tuft of red hair and a ridiculously huge smile appeared from the side of the teepee.

Doomy-Fisted Girl pointed. "My Game Slavey. You know, from the Slavey tribe of Northwest Canada?"

"...Did you honestly expect anyone to get that joke?"

"Not really. Anyway, I call him Stupid Rooster, because his hair kind of makes him look like a rooster, and he's stupid. Now come on," she said, grabbing Stupid Rooster's hand and dragging him away. "I want to practice this 'head-shrinking' thing I heard about."

"They did that in _South_ America!" Big-Head Boy called after them.

"Whatever!"

Big-Head Boy watched them, sighed and then went off on his own into the woods.

Moving quietly through the trees, footsteps muffled by the snow, Big-Head Boy went looking for the spots where he had set his most recent Sasquatch-traps, hoping he would finally have a catch. Unfortunately all of them turned out to be empty---maybe he hadn't figured out the right bait? What did Sasquatches eat anyway? Maybe people? Big Head made a mental note to ask Doomy Fists later if she could borrow her Game Slavey...

He was just turning to head back to the camp when he heard a shrill noise coming through the trees.

"_Get off me! TAK!_"

Big-Headed Boy heard more shouts, screams and rustling. Frowning to himself, he ran a short distance and crouched down in the bushes, peering over them into a clearing. There were shoddy wooden buildings all around the edges of the site, like a little town, and a small number of people---though people like Big Head had never seen before, short and green with huge, bug-like eyes. They were all dressed in black and white clothes that didn't look like any animal skin he had ever seen---what had those come from, a zebra? Wait, he couldn't logically know what a zebra was. Whatever.

The little green people were all standing in a circle, except for two in the center, who seemed to be fighting. The slightly larger one, with purple eyes, was on top of the smaller, red-eyed one, and seemed to be doing her best to strangle him. From the sounds of it, most of the crowd approved of this, though there was one squat little one who seemed to be begging her to stop, while a little silver man did nothing more than jump around wildly and bang himself on the head.

Without thinking Big-Headed Boy jumped out of the bushes into the clearing. "What the heck is going on here?!" he called, eyes wide behind his glasses.

...Because Indians had glasses. No, seriously, I'm sure, don't bother looking it up.

All the little green people spun around, frozen, eyes just as wide as his. Even the two combatants in the middle of the group froze. The little squat one stopped his begging, jumped and squeaked, "Ah! Wild Earth-beast!" before ducking into a bush.

Big Head blinked. "...No. I'm just a kid from the village about a mile away," he said, jerking his thumb behind him. "Who are all of you?"

The red-eyed little man managed to extract himself from beneath his purple-eyed attacker and quickly stood up, rushing up to Big Head and standing on his tip-toes to make up for being half a foot shorter. "Greetings-eth, Native Earthling! I am---"

"---a complete idiot!"

"Shut up-eth, Tak! ...Eth!" He grimaced and turned back to Big-Head Boy. "I am Rev. Zim, leader of the Pilg-Irkens. We have come to your pitiful dirt-ball planet to escape the tyranny of our old world. Now who are _you,_ to come wandering into our great and amazing village?!"

Big Head's eyes wandered around the little hovels for a moment, but he decided not to correct the green man. "My name is Big-Head Boy. _My head's not big!_" He opened his eyes and looked up at the confused Irken. "Er...sorry. Force of habit. So, uh..." He scratched the back of his neck and looked around the makeshift village. "...Everything going alright for you...Pig-Irkers?"

"_Pilg-Irkens._ And yes, things are goingeth, er---swimmingly."

"_We're starving to death on a planet covered in burning icy death!_"

"SHUT UP!"

"Starving to death?" Big-Headed Boy blinked. "Why, don't you guys have any leftover food from the summer?"

"We can't grow anything here," the purple-eyed woman said, crossing her arms over her chest. "We lack all the greenhouses and bioengineering equipment necessary for food production. All we've been able to do since our snacks ran out is scavenge through the forest, and most of what we've found burns us as badly as _this,_" she grumbled, kicking at the snow with the protection of her shoe.

Big Head frowned. "Well, uh...if you guys are having any trouble, you could come back to my village with me. We've got some extra food and stuff if you need it..."

Rev. Zim waved his hand dismissively. "Thank you, but I don't think that will be necess---"

The purple-eyed one immediately shoved him into the snow---instantly his green skin started to burn, and he rolled around screaming. Big Head's eyes widened in shock, but he turned away as the green woman said, in her most delicate tone, "We'd be delighted. Please lead the way."

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Over the next year, the Pilg-Irkens and the Native Earthlings developed a close friendship, and the failing Irken settlement thrived under the new alliance. The Native Earthlings helped the Pilg-Irkens grow their own food, and Big Head's father, with his keen knowledge of stuff, even found a way to convert the corn and wheat into snacks they could eat. They helped the newcomers make better shelters, organize their village, and learn all the basics about the various plants and animals of the planet. Soon the Pilg-Irkens had grown from a starving and dying group of stragglers into a small but thriving community, and the two peoples were the greatest of friends.

About a year after Big-Head Boy had first wandered into the aliens' midst, the Pilg-Irkens, having enjoyed a copious harvest and converted it all into a great supply of chips and nachos, decided to throw a huge feast and invite the Native Earthlings to attend. The two peoples gathered together in the Pilg-Irken town, bringing food from each village and sitting together to happily chatter, Big-Head and his family sitting at the head table with Rev. Zim, Goody Tak and the other Pilg-Irken leaders.

Rev. Zim rose to his feet, raising his can of space-soda to propose a toast.

"My fellow Irkens and new hyuman friends," he said, and Big Head smiled up at him from his seat, "I would like to begin our feast by thanking the Native Earthlings for their aid during the past year. It is truly thanks to their great aid that we have survived on this new planet. Thanks to them and all that they've taught us, we now need no longer fear starvation, cold, or any of those creepy chihuahua dogs with the big bulbous eyes and lobotomy scars."

There was applause from the Irkens and humans. "_WHOO-HOO!_ I like 'em doggies," GIR said, taking a huge swig of his drink and spilling most of it all down his front.

Rev. Zim made a motion for quiet, and the noise slowly died down. "And so, with all that in mind..._ATTACK!_"

"What?!"

Suddenly all the Pilg-Irkens leaped up, pulling laser-muskets out from under the table. The Native Earthlings let out cries of surprise and dived down, covering their heads with their hands as blasts of energy filled the air.

"Agh!" Big-Head Boy shouted, closing his eyes tightly and covering his ears.

Doomy-Fisted Girl, however, leaped up, pulling a tamahawk from her belt. "Naw-_AW!_ Native Earthlings, counterattack!"

Recovering from the surprise of the Pilg-Irkens' treachery, many of the Native Earthlings jumped up and ran after her, picking up whatever weapons or supplies they could find as they tackled the attacking Irkens. Doomy-Fists punched Rev. Zim, who fell---GIR jumped up at her (more likely to hug than rebuff) and was scalped, much to his delight. Tak shot a laser blast at three Native Earthlings, was punched by a fourth, while the other Irkens---

* * *

"_DIB!_"

SMACK!

"_AGH!_"

I sat up, startled out of my dream, to see Ms. Bitters' wrinkled hand on the desk, inches from my face. I looked up at her slowly, nervously. She glared back with a grimace.

"Heh-heh...sorry," I muttered, tapping my fingers together nervously.

Ms. Bitters growled and swooped back to her desk. Zita raised her hand and and spoke without waiting to be called. "So, you're saying the Pilgrims and the Native Americans got along fine for a little while, but almost right after the first Thanksgiving they turned around and tried to kill each other?"

"Yes," Ms. Bitters said, nodding as she settled herself into her chair and tented her fingers on the desk. "And that is why we commemmorate this event every year by inviting over relatives we _hate,_ and pretending to get along with them for one short meal before going back to wanting to kill each other. Or getting drunk and making a pass at your wife's sister, leading her to get _horrible revenge_ on you," she added, bending low over her desk and dropping her voice to a loud whisper. Then her head shot back to glare over us. "Any _questions?!_"

I turned around in my seat; everyone was shooting each other disturbed looks. The bell rang. "Now have a Happy Thanksgiving," Ms. Bitters called dryly, as everybody jumped up and ran out of the room.

As people were being pushed and trampled, I waited for the usual rush to go by before daring to climb out of my seat, leaving me alone with the only other person who was (somehow) sensible enough to do so---Zim. And Keef, who seemed to have waited just to hang around us. "That was a great story, wasn't it, buddies?" he asked, rushing over as we began to file out of the room.

Neither Zim nor I answered; Zim just turned up his nose (...or lack of one) at us, and swept from the room. Glaring, I followed.

"Hey, you know what?" Keef called, rushing after us. "Since Ms. Bitters said that Thanksgiving is about people who don't like each other learning to get along, maybe you _both_ should come over to my house tomorrow, and the three of us can all have Thanksgiving _together! _It would be _so much_ fun, we could---"

"_NO!_" Zim and I both screamed, turning around together to yell at the little annoyance.

For the first time ever, Keef seemed somewhat cowed. Zim and I turned to glare at each other, then each spun around and marched a different way home.

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And that, class, is the _horrible_ story of the first _Invader Zim_-themed Thanksgiving. Hope you enjoyed it, and please leave a review! And for those interested, "10 IZ Pairings" should update by tomorrow...not that I should waste valuable time on that, but I will. "Death of the Dib" soon too, but that'll take a bit longer.


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